Inquisitor's Candle
by Kristi
Summary: A discussion before bed. Sirius asks too many questions. SBRL. Ficlet. No spoilers.


Lie Low at Lupin's era. No spoilers. 

"Inquisitor's Candle"

Remus tossed his watch onto the dresser and began to unbutton his shirt. "We're out of tea and bread, so if you have anything else to add to the list . . ." he trailed off. "What?"

Sirius turned his attention to the buttons on his own wrists, embarrassed. "Nothing."

Remus threw his shirt into the hamper without looking at Sirius, having a good idea of the 'nothing.' The concealment charm he put on daily had worn off, and he'd seen Sirius glance, not for the first time, at the inside of his left wrist. After nearly thirty years as a werewolf, Remus had accepted the other scars; he didn't like them, but it wasn't practical every morning to cover up every sign of every full moon of his life. While it was one thing to look like a chew toy - people assumed he worked with magical creatures - a wide, precise scar on the inside of his non-dominant arm looked exactly like what it was.

Sirius sighed, sounding irritated or impatient, and gestured at Remus' left arm. "Been meaning to ask you about that."

"Ask me about what?"

Sirius fixed him with a gaze. There were no secrets between them, so why start now?

"What does it look like?" Remus said gruffly. He dressed for bed while Sirius watched him, at a loss for words.

"I'm sorry," Sirius finally said.

Remus folded his long, lithe body under the down coverlet. "It was a long time ago."

"When?" Sirius said automatically, and Remus realized that that was the information he'd been after. Sirius stood beside the bed, half dressed, brows drawn and lips tight - anger and concern, Remus recognized. Not angry with Remus, he knew, but at the things he couldn't change.

"October thirty first, nineteen eighty four. Not a . . . not a pleasant date, any year."

"But that year was worse?" Sirius asked. Remus didn't answer. "Why?"

"Come to bed, Sirius." Remus switched off the light.

"Making it dark doesn't mean you can't hear me, you know." Remus could hear the smile in Sirius' voice. "I don't mean to be morbid, love, I just want to know."

_But you _are_ morbid, all the time_, Remus thought, but didn't dare voice it. It was tiring to be pulled ceaselessly into the past by Sirius' questions and musings. He tried not to blame him; Remus' past was Sirius' present, because he'd spent twelve years out of time while the world marched on. But as much as Remus didn't want to rehash it all, he couldn't - _wouldn't_ - deny Sirius the life he'd missed out on. He wouldn't tell him to stop asking questions.

Sirius climbed into the other side of the bed, settling into the mattress - still odd after years on a pallet - and twined his fingers with Remus', fixing him with a patient yet penetrative gaze.

"I wasn't happy, obviously," Remus said, attempting to affect some sort of detachment. "I'd lost a job that month. Wasn't - wasn't doing well, financially. Wasn't doing well in general, if I'm to be honest. Didn't have friends to speak of." He shrugged in the darkness. "I don't know what to say. Why does anyone try it?"

"Did you really want to kill yourself? I mean, _be _dead?"

Remus turned onto his back, still holding onto Sirius' hand but fixing his eyes on the infinite darkness which contained, somewhere, the ceiling.

"I don't know. No, I guess not."

"You're made of stronger stuff than that, Moony. Why'd you decide to give up?"

Anger flashed in Remus' eyes. "That's a hell of a thing to say, Pads." He turned onto his side, away from Sirius, biting back the nastier comments that danced on his tongue. He didn't dare admit that some childishly unpleasant part of him felt that Sirius had had it easier, at least knowing where his meals were coming from and being able to ignore the world that didn't want him.

Remus felt a hand on his arm, the thumb massaging affectionately; guilt at the selfish thoughts slithered in his belly.

"I'm sorry," Sirius whispered. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry you went through twelve years of hell. I'm sorry I left you-"

"Sirius, enough. Please. Can we just go to sleep?"_ You're sorry, I'm sorry - it doesn't change anything. Can we just stop being a houseful of sorry, miserable people? _

"Remus . . ." The hand on his arm migrated to his shoulder to knead little circles there, too. In that touch, Sirius desperately wished to convey the thoughts swirling in his battered mind and heart, feelings he couldn't understand himself but wished Moony could. He wished his friend Moony could help him sort them out.

Remus reluctantly turned back to face the other man in the bed. Sirius traced the ridges of Remus' face with his fingertips. He kissed his forehead with a world-weary love.

"Just want you to be happy," Sirius said quietly.

"I am." It wasn't a lie; his irritation would pass. "It was a long time ago."

"I know. Love you."

Remus turned over into Sirius' arms, nestling into his shoulder. "You too."

_end_

Million thanks to beta reader Sean. 


End file.
